


a sonnet in the sky

by luxaureas



Category: The Dragon Prince (Cartoon)
Genre: Birthday Party, Birthday Presents, Canon Lesbian Relationship, Canonical Character Death, F/F, Family Bonding, Family Feels, Hurt/Comfort, Minor Original Character(s), Mother-Daughter Relationship, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-22
Updated: 2019-06-22
Packaged: 2020-05-16 17:02:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19322386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luxaureas/pseuds/luxaureas
Summary: ”For our dear Aanya,”the script says on the inside of the front cover and after so many years, Aanya tells herself she won’t cry.She knows she will, though. She always does. It is as inevitable as her birthday, as the summer solstice.





	a sonnet in the sky

**Author's Note:**

  * For [poetroe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/poetroe/gifts).



> this is the first time publishing on mobile so i hope i didn’t fuck up the formatting but i’m away from my computer bc i’m on vacation and petra made me do it. i blame them entirely [ wink ]
> 
> this is for you, poetroe, for putting up with my bawling about aanya and tdp in general all the time. 
> 
> anyway, enjoy this sad yet somehow happy little ficlet about our sassy queen daughter. happy birthday aanya! we miss your moms as much as you do :( hopefully this makes up for a twelfth birthday spent all alone. 
> 
> title ; [daughter nature](https://hellopoetry.com/poem/3169345/daughter-nature/) by seanathon

The party is so loud and crowded that no one notices when Aanya slips from the room. It’s almost sad, in a way, that she’s the host and center of the party yet she’s able to walk out without anyone the wiser.  

Leaning against the large oak doors of the Great Hall when she’s finally out, Aanya closes her eyes briefly and takes a deep breath of the cool air of the corridor. The party is hot and without the heaviness of the heat on her shoulders and slipping underneath the collar of her dress, Queen Aanya already feels lighter. 

Her heels echo down the empty, dimly-lot corridor. Laughter and music resonates from the Great Hall but Aanya finds no lost love for leaving the festivities as she walks. Instead of surrounded by celebrating noblemen and women with champagne and wine on their breath, she is enveloped by the cool nights of a summer in Duren, coming in through the open balcony doors every few feet. Everyone is at the party and the maids who aren’t serving have gone home for the night by the Queen’s request. It’s the biggest celebration in the kingdom and Aanya is utterly alone. 

She’s grown used to it. Prefers it, even. Loneliness is an old friend. There’s less betrayals this way. 

Resisting the urge to climb out of her dress she was wrestled into by her lady in waiting before the party and pulling her hair from the braid, Aanya glances around for a moment before cracking open the door to her quarters. Blissfully they’re empty, only a few oil lamps burning lowly on the walls and her nightgown on the bed. Aanya smiles to herself and crosses the room, toeing off her heels and lining them up in the closet before sitting at her vanity. 

Her reflection stares back at her wordlessly. 

She makes quick work of her hair and with careful fingers, takes off her crown. In the low light, it gleams and she imagines her mothers wearing similar ones. 

Shaking her head to knock free the thought, she stands and unbuttons hr fine gown with steady fingers to pull her nightgown over her head instead. The thin linen is cool against her skin, dark blue like the colors of her kingdom, gold thread trimming the collar and sleeves that flow to her elbows. To combat the cool yet somehow sticky summer nights, she prefers looser night clothes and knots a robe atop for modesty’s sake. Her hair falls around her collarbones in limp waves as she plucks the candle from her desk. Tiptoeing from the bedchambers, she makes her way to the study just down the hall. Aanya catches the glint of her necklace against her nightgown’s front in a window’s reflection in passing, sparkling under the candle’s flame.

She tucks it against her skin like the precious thing it is - one of the last physical pieces of her mothers she has left.  

When Aanya closes the study doors behind her, the sound bouncing around the dark, quiet room, she smiles. In the moonlight she can see the brass tray on the end table next to her armchair, teapot and teacups shining dully and a single slice of peach-and-pear-crumb-cobbler accompanied by a single silver fork. 

Despite the fact she’s had it already in the Great Hall at the end of the feast in honor of her twelfth birthday, Aanya sinks into the plush confines of the armchair and pours herself a cup of tea before digging into the cobbler. 

Sometimes, she loves her lady-in-waiting. She knows that despite her request for everyone not serving tonight to go home or join the festivities in the town square, Miriam will stay until Aanya finally retires to bed. Her lady-in-waiting is the closest thing Aanya has to a mother, Miriam’s hugs and gentle scoldings a taste of something she’s only dreamed of. The head maid knows Aanya’s birthday ritual like the back of her hand and does all she can. 

Aanya loves her like a mother and reminds herself when she must that there’s enough room to love all her mothers - ones here and ones past.  

When there’s only crumbs of the topping left on the plate and the teacup is empty, she stands and rounds the desk. Picking up the iron key from the top and taking a breath to calm her nerves, she wills her hand not to shake as she unlocks the bottom drawer. 

As inevitable as her birthday, the brown leather-bound book embossed with Duren’s royal crest is resting in the bottom, just the same as last year on this day and the year before that. The summer solstice comes every year despite Aanya’s wishing that sometimes it wouldn’t.  

She loves and hates this part the most, though. 

As if she’s cradling a baby bird in her hands, Aanya lifts the book from the depths and blows off the dust on the top with a steady huff. With careful steps she crosses around back to her armchair and with bated breath, sits and opens the front cover.  

_“For our dear Aanya,”_ the script says on the inside of the front cover and after so many years, Aanya tells herself she won’t cry. 

She knows she will, though. She always does.  

Closing her eyes for a beat against the stinging, she brushes her fingers over the dried ink. Although the people who wrote this journal have long died, well over a decade ago now, Aanya swears she can feel the Queens at her side whenever this day comes around. She turns the page and opens her eyes to the looping letters of Annika’s handwriting and the scrawled, long twirls of Neha’s. 

She’ll stay here until the candle burns low in the tallow and Miriam has to shake her awake softly. The party will be well over and the guests gone when she returns the book to its drawer and locks it before Miriam tucks her into bed. Aanya will insist she doesn’t need it and Miriam will say what she says every night: _everyone needs someone to look out for them._ Aanya will hold back tears and dismiss her politely with a soft, shaky voice and Miriam will close the door behind her lightly and try not to cry herself.  

She loves Aanya like a daughter. Miriam will clear the tray from the study and on the way out, study the portrait on the wall. 

Queen Aanya doesn’t know it but she looks like the two deceased Queens - she has Annika’s eyes and the regal slope of Neha’s nose but she’s all herself, sassy and strong-willed and everything her mothers hope she would be. 

The head maid will curtesy to the portrait and close the study door tight - there are no more ghosts in this corridor. She’ll make sure of it. 

Nestled under the fine quilts of her bed Aanya will dream of the swirling words bound tight by leather and ink and her own heart. She’ll see the smiling faces of her mothers, Neha’s dimples and Annika’s sparking eyes. She’ll see them bent over a journal with fine white paper that’s thick and will watch them bind it together by hand. Neha will press the poker into the leather front and in precise sweeps, Annika will pen the words Aanya holds so dear in an introduction Aanya will memorize. 

She knows every word in this journal yet reads it every time like it’s her first. 

_“For our dear Aanya,_

_We hope this journal brings you the wisdom, guidance, and strength we bound into it ourselves. On the eve of tomorrow night, we will embark on a journey with our sister kingdom into dangerous land and hope to bring back the heart of a Titan to restore our lands and give you the life you deserve in a prospering kingdom. Tonight, though, we write to you as if you weren’t an infant that suckled at our breasts and are now asleep in a bassinet never far from our sides._

_We love you, Aanya. Even now, as Neha strays from my side and looks down upon your sleeping face no doubt glowing in the firelight, we both write to you. These words are as much mine as they are hers. They are ours, beloved Aanya, and they are for you._

_Within these pages are many things, gathered and written by your mother and I long before your birth and now after. Neha thinks herself an aspiring artist and has slipped many sketches of you between my notes to you and journal entries of everything from trade meetings to festivities in town. She calls me too focused on your duty but everything in this kingdom and this journal will one day be your duty. Your people love you, Aanya, as do we. This is for you whether or not we return but know that we love you with our minds, our souls, and our hearts. Our rides tomorrow will be for you, for this kingdom, for your future._

_Your name was Neha’s mother’s name. In honor and in grace we dedicate this journal to you, our daughter. Our little girl. Our_  דופק לב _in our chests._

_For you. Eternities will pass and we will cherish you all the same._

_From Queens Annika and Neha, mothers to Princess Aanya, future ruler of Duren._

הפרח האדום הקטן שלנו.”

**Author's Note:**

> aanya is a hebrew name so the translations are from hebrew. if they’re wrong i apologize! i used google translate. 
> 
> *דופק לב - heartbeat  
> *הפרח האדום הקטן שלנו - our little red flower


End file.
